As Deep and Winding
by Chrmdpoet
Summary: They didn't speak of it. Neither would have known what to say. Regina would have likely been uncomfortable and shaken to the point of being cold and detached, and Emma would have undoubtedly stuttered her way through a speech that made little or no sense by its end.


**A/N: One-Shot prompted by Velace and inspired by the song "Like I Can" by Sam Smith. Brief ambiguous mentions of Hook/CS in passing. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

As Deep and Winding

They didn't speak of it. Neither would have known what to say. Regina would have likely been uncomfortable and shaken to the point of being cold and detached, and Emma would have undoubtedly stuttered her way through a speech that made little or no sense by its end.

So, they didn't speak of it. They didn't hint at it. They didn't dwell on it.

But it remained. It existed. It slithered through their minds in quiet moments and on lonely nights and when their gazes locked like desperate hands straining over spaces too vast for them to touch. It persisted.

It was never supposed to mean anything. It was never meant to grow, to evolve. It was never meant to have breath and life and a haunting lilt that crept along Regina's flesh and sang in her veins long after Emma's touch was gone and Emma's eyes had turned from her.

Regina had been content to let it seep into the past mere hours after when she could readily taste the salt of Emma's kiss and Emma's come still lingering on her lips. It drifted away from her in the electric hum of panic and magic and fierce determination. It drifted away from her in the high of being reunited with her son. It drifted away from her in the thrill of victory.

It drifted back when the hum quieted, when the high slowly drained. It drifted back when the thrill dulled and dimmed, and she felt the ghosts of Emma's fingers on her thighs and in her hair. It drifted back when she closed her eyes and recalled the crease in Emma's brow, the tension in her face and body as she rocked against Regina and panted out whispers of melodies along the sweat-slicked slopes of Regina's breasts and hips.

She could still feel the vibrations on her skin and in her bones, the tremors of Emma's moans and sighs. She wanted only to be still again, to forget.

But it remained. Always, it remained.

In the days immediately following, Regina wondered if Emma thought of her, if she remembered with as much clarity as Regina did. When their eyes locked and the air grew thick around them, she wondered if Emma still felt her, still shook with the heat of their push and pull as profoundly as Regina did. She thought, perhaps, that Emma might, might still feel Regina's nails in the smooth expanse of her back, Regina's thigh pressed against her dripping heat.

But Emma's hands filled quickly, all leather and metal and a hand that clutched her like she was property. Emma's gaze never found hers as readily after that, and Regina stopped wondering, stopped seeking, stopped.

She only continued in the darkest, quietest moments on the loneliest nights. She only continued when their arms accidentally brushed, when their circumstances forced them together and they shared hesitant glances and smiles that felt strained and heavy with things that neither could put to voice. She continued nonetheless.

The panic set in when the ghosts of Emma's touch and weight crept through the surface, no longer lingering on Regina's skin, and sank into her soul. She panicked at every flip of her stomach, every clench of the pulsing organ in her chest, every flutter and vibration inspired by Emma's presence and promises.

And yet, Emma never turned. She offered Regina the comfort of affection given in fleeting platonic presses of hands to limbs and back, in reassurance, in soft, crooked smiles that made Regina's heart race faster even than the haunt of Emma's teeth along the length of her ribs, but Emma never turned from him. She never looked at Regina like she understood what it meant to feel someone in every wet drop of breath on her tongue and in every cell growing and dividing and growing again both on the surface and beneath it. She never looked at Regina like she remembered, like she held on, like she _knew._

And Regina _burned. _She burned in ways she could not even put to words.

Her throat constricted when Emma stepped into her spaces. Her heart pounded. Her breath came as fire and arrested halfway down, never making it to her lungs where she most needed it. Her chest felt tight and rigid, and her fingertips and flesh tingled.

She felt their history in her bones—every memory, every breathless exchange, every searing glare, every delicious challenge, every touch, every rescue, every moment of understanding, every connection, and enough heat to fuel an eternal flame. It all ached so fiercely inside her that she feared she might crack and crumble with the strain of it.

How had she never seen it before, all that they were to one another and all that they _could _be?

Emma seemed untouched by it all, having truly let it rest. Regina watched her, paid attention. She saw the way Emma's fingers never curled between his as easily as they had hers, as smoothly as Regina's fingers had laced with Emma's as they anchored one another through the haze of wave after wave of rolling heat. She saw the way Emma's body never melted against his the way it had melted against hers, the way it had melted so thoroughly that their separate bodies seemed to press and dissolve into one quivering puddle. She saw the way Emma's mouth never touched his as hungrily as it had hers, as reverently as it had mapped Regina's flesh. She saw the way Emma's smiles for him never quite reached her eyes, and she remembered the hot laughter against her throat and Emma's shining eyes in the dark as she teased Regina to the brink of explosion.

Regina ached for Emma to see this, to recognize, to understand. He could never touch her as reverently as Regina could. He could never make her quake like Regina could. He could never understand her as intimately, as softly, as deeply as Regina could. He could never learn her the way Regina had, the way Regina had been learning her since their first shared breath. He would never light her up the way Regina could, make her fierce and strong or soft and pliant at touch, at glance; he could never make her bright and vibrant in the shadows and in the silence.

He could never love her like Regina could, but then _no one_ ever could. Regina's love was as deep and winding as her past, as visceral as the rasping growl in her voice or the curl of her fingers around a glowing heart or the driving determination that had always, _always _burned in her blood. None could compare.

Regina let the ache chip away at her, gnaw at all her defenses until she felt raw and exposed and exhausted. She grew tired of being silent, of waiting, of hoping. It got her nowhere. It gave her nothing beyond endless days of watching Emma dim and dim and dim beneath his arm.

Regina thought herself entirely forgotten, but then Emma followed her. She felt her before she saw her, walking quietly behind her along the sidewalk and all the way back to Regina's house. Regina slipped inside and simply left the door open.

She stepped into the study, poured herself and Emma a drink, and tried to swallow down the thick, swelling lump in her throat. It refused to budge. Her heart began to pound heavily in her chest when she heard Emma's boots tap against the floor, and then …

"Hey."

Regina closed her eyes, her back to Emma, and licked her lips. She gripped the edge of the bar and summoned every ounce of resistance she could muster in her exhausted bones, but then …

"Do you ever think about us, about that night?"

Her breath left her in a rush as she spun on the spot, heart soaring up her throat and then pressing hotly against Emma's open mouth. Her hand slid under the wave of Emma's hair and she moaned at the feeling of Emma's arms wrapping around her waist like they were finally finding home.

Regina felt her own hot tears on her face, melting into their melded lips, and she only pressed harder, sank deeper, ached for more. "Stay." It was a ragged whispered plea against Emma's teeth, and Regina could not regret it if she tried. She pulled at Emma's jacket and Emma pulled at her hair, gripped her hips, kissed her hungrily and softly and fast and slow. "Stay."

And when they lay in a naked heap on the floor, limbs tangled and chests heaving, Regina slipped her fingers through Emma's and reveled in the smooth slide, the right fit. She laid her head on Emma's chest and memorized the frantic rhythm within, the melody of the way Emma felt beneath her.

"Emma …" The name dusted across Emma's collarbone in a gentle brush of air, a delicate question kissing at her flesh.

Emma squeezed Regina's hand. "I'm staying."


End file.
